


Flour Fights

by noahczerns



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:50:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahczerns/pseuds/noahczerns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patroclus was new to the baking scene and thought the best place to start was cake, it couldn’t be that hard, surely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flour Fights

**Author's Note:**

> i just wrote this because i was bored and procrastinating a level revision... nice !

“Right. 300 grams of flour, 2 table spoons of water...” Patroclus said as he read the cake recipe he had found earlier. The song on the radio was rather catchy and it was difficult to not to sing along but he refrained to merely tapping his foot along to the rhythm since he knew Achilles was sleeping in the other room. He gathered the ingredients from various cupboards with increasing confusion as the two had no organisation system since they had moved in together and it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find a packet of spaghetti next to the icing sugar. 

After picking up the last thing he needed, the mixing bowl, Patroclus began to measure out the ingredients and put them into the bowl. He got as far as mixing the butter and sugar before he heard a sleepy yawn from the doorway. He looked over to see Achilles rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes before running his hand through his golden hair. 

“What are you doing up, sleepyhead?” Patroclus asked with a chuckle and returned to the mixing bowl.

“You hum pretty loudly. If hum is the right word. Sounded like a pretty awful attempt at singing.” 

“Heeey. I tried to be quiet. The song was just too damn catchy. Couldn’t help it.” 

Achilles made his way to the table and sat on the chair next to it, his elbows on the table, his head resting in his hands. He picked up the recipe and examined it with an eyebrow raised, “Cake, huh?” 

“Yeah. Want to help? I might let you have some then.” he said with a wink. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“Pour the flour in the bowl while I’m mixing.” he handed Achilles the smaller bowl filled with flour and began to mix again. Achilles glanced at the bowl in his hand and back at Patroclus, an idea forming in his mind. 

“Hey, Pat.” just as Patroclus looked up, Achilles had flicked a handful of flour into his face, landing in his dark hair and on his nose. The dark haired boy stopped for a second before filling his own hand with flour. Achilles was caught mid-laugh when he felt the returning cloud of flour hit his own face. “Oh you’re in for it now.” he said with a grin, grasping for yet more. 

“I am, am I?” Patroclus replied, smirking. Flour and laughter flew between them both, enveloping them in a shroud of white dust and delight. They danced to the cheesy songs playing on the radio, covered from head to toe. They grappled for handfuls until there was none left to throw, making a mess of the room which they knew they’d have to clear up sooner or later, but for now nothing else mattered except the other.   
Their fingers reached for the bowl to discover the contents all but empty. The particles settled in their hair and in the crevices of their faces as their breaths slowed and their laughter subsided. 

“You’ve got something on your face.” Achilles murmured, cake forgotten. He leaned forward and gently kiss Patroclus’ dusty lips. “Oh my god, flour tastes disgusting. How is it the main ingredient for cake, honestly?” he exclaimed loudly with his eyebrows furrowed and Patroclus smiled and rolled his eyes.

“You are such an idiot sometimes. We aren’t even going to have any cake now.” he kissed Achilles and purposely got as much flour in his mouth as possible, smiling as he felt him squirm.

“Stop stop stooop I can’t take this get this vile taste out of my m-” he was cut short from yet another flour-filled kiss. “This is torture. You are torturing me.” Patroclus raised his eyebrow and ran his fingers through Achilles thick curls, sending clouds of flour spiralling into the air around them. 

“If this is torture, then I wonder what bliss is like…” Patroclus muttered and kissed him, his fingers still lingering in his hair.


End file.
